


Choke

by takeitbabyboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Asphyxiation, Breathplay, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:25:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takeitbabyboy/pseuds/takeitbabyboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has less than one year left to live, and Sam can't fucking stand it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choke

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a prompt from [Chelsea](http://amigara.tumblr.com/), for a choking-during-sex fic. Thanks to [Morgan](http://wincestcurious.tumblr.com/) for the beta.

It's less like sex and more like fighting: nails biting into skin, teeth scraping over the shadows of already-forming bruises, clashes of tongue between swollen lips.

Words flow like poison through Sam's head, poised on the tip of his tongue as he laps at the sweat on Dean's throat.

_Selfish bastard. How dare you?_

Like he's painting his thoughts into Dean's skin, he lets his hands and mouth trace all of hate he has inside him onto the surface of his brother's bare chest.

_How dare you make a decision like this? How dare you think you have the fucking right?_

Ever since Sam found out what his life cost, it’s been like this. Rough and angry and hard and hot and not even a little gentle or tender.

Sex has become a wordless ritual. They'd never really talked about it before. There's no easy way to discuss fucking your brother. But now, it's like going through the motions, more need than desire. What they have now is violent.

Sam doesn't hesitate one second to let his mind run. The second he hears the jangle of Dean's belt buckle, his hands are on his own pants. He kicks them off of his legs and piles them with his socks and boxers in a heap on the floor.

Dean's no delicate flower, but it probably aches a bit when Sam slides two fingers straight inside of him, only a sloppy squeeze of lube on his hole to ease the way. Dean grits his teeth, but he bears down. He needs it just as badly as Sam does. Doesn't give a shit if it hurts.

Sam knows his big brother better than he knows anyone in the world, so he knows exactly why Dean lets him do this.

Pain is real. It means Dean is alive. So, he takes it. He takes everything Sam gives him.

It's so fucked up how much Dean is willing to sacrifice for him. Sam doesn't know how to feel about it; he doesn't want to feel anything. He pushes the pain out of his mind before it drowns him, concentrates on the hot squeeze around his fingers as he lubes up his cock. Dean is tight as a vice around him, green eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he squirms around on Sam's cock.

They don't speak, don't even kiss. They just breath each other's air. For a minute it's like it used to be before Sam died. It's pleasure and wonder and _so fucking good._

But then Sam's thoughts turn to deadlines and sacrifices, and he feels himself crumbling, hips stuttering mid-thrust.

_One year. Only one fucking year._

Dean grabs Sam's wrist and brings his hand to the tattoo on Dean’s chest, ink still fresh black just like Sam's own.

Voice mangled and shredded, Dean says quietly, “The safeword is ‘red’.” Red like the blood between them. Red like the eyes of the bitch who took away his brother's life.

Sam takes it for what it is— permission. He needs to make Dean pay for what he did, he needs to show Dean how fucking stupid and selfish and cruel his choice was.

_Why couldn't you just let me die, you son of a bitch?_

He hammers into Dean then, listening to the grunts his brother lets out with each rough slam of his hips. He pushes down on Dean's chest and _holds him there_ , makes him take it.

Sam looks down at Dean's throat, bared as Dean throws his head back on the bed, and he feels an itch in his fingers. He wraps his hand around Dean's throat, placing just enough pressure there so Dean can still gasp for air.

Dean jerks before looking at him, but it's not fear Sam sees in his eyes. It's desire. Sam could have fucking guessed. The guy who didn’t seem to give a shit about his own life. Of course he'd love having the life choked out of him in bed.

_Fucking moron._

Sam can feel hot tears surfacing in his eyes, fueled by his anguish and exertion. Every beat of Dean's pulse beneath his fingers feels like the ticking of a clock. Every second brings him closer and closer to losing this.

Sam squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing the pain and forcing himself past it. He hears a gasp and he realizes he's tightened his fingers around Dean's throat. When he feels Dean's cock jump between their bellies, he’s furious.

“God, fucking seriously, Dean?” Sam spits, anger shaking his body as he stills his motions.

He loosens his grip and Dean lets out a whimper at the loss, throwing his head back and wiggling around on Sam's cock, “Sam, please...”

“Please, what?” Sam hisses. “You want me to choke the life out of you, Dean? You don't even have a fucking year left!”

Sam stares into Dean's eyes and there's emotion there that wasn't present before. It makes something in Sam's stomach twist. Dean shifts, squeezing Sam's length inside him as he lets his eyes flutter shut. His eyelashes look wet. “Sammy—need you to—”

And suddenly Sam understands. He knows Dean better than anyone else and he can’t believe he didn't figure it out before. Dean needs _Sam_ to be the one to control his life. He needs _Sam_ to have the power over him for a while, needs his brother's hand on his throat deciding whether he lives or dies.

Sam never had the choice and now Dean is giving it to him. He wants him to have it.

Sam spits on his hand and smears it across his dick before plunging back inside Dean. He's fucking Dean the way he know Dean needs it: steady and deep enough to shake his bones. Dean is moaning, mouth open in an 'o' as Sam buries himself to the hilt, over and over.

Sam wraps his hand around Dean's throat again, feels the vibration of Dean's vocal chords under his palm as Dean groans. The noises stop and turn into broken gasps when Sam tightens his grip. He lets his nails dig into the skin of Dean's neck, watching Dean's face carefully as his eyes roll back into his head, cheeks flushed and mouth still hanging open from lack of breath.

Sam releases enough pressure to let Dean take in a deep gulp of air before he tightens his grip even further. Dean's hand is awkwardly groping between them for his cock and Sam rotates his hips in a circle, angles his hips upwards at that spot that makes Dean scream.

Sam can see Dean's eyes tearing, spit collecting in his mouth as his tongue spasms uselessly around the screams that can't come out. He's gagging on nothing, eyelids beginning to flutter as he strips his cock with slow, clumsy movements between their bellies.

When Sam releases his hand, finally lets Dean have air again, Dean screams. He paints his chest and abdomen with white streaks of come, making a mess of them. “God, Sam—” he manages as he arches against the aftershocks shaking his body.

Sam can't last much longer after that, the squeeze of his brother's body too much for him. He collapses over Dean, arms shaking as he hits his climax.

Sam shifts just enough to pull out of Dean before his cock begins to soften. They stay like that a moment, Sam plastered over Dean's chest, stuck by sweat and Dean's come, Sam’s leaking out onto the bed from inside Dean.

Sam can feel his brother's heartbeat again and he's counting every thump against his chest when Dean breaks the silence.

“Dude, get off me. You're fucking heavy.”

Sam rolls off of Dean onto his back and closes his eyes. His limbs are heavy and the bed is soft under him. Sleep takes him soon after he hears the first of Dean's soft snores.

They don't say anything to each other until the next morning, after they've checked out of the motel, listened to at least four bad hair metal songs, driven 64 miles and made their first stop for coffee.

“Thanks,” Sam says as Dean passes him the white paper cup.

There's a lot hidden behind the word.


End file.
